Hell is Empty
by Gnomie897
Summary: "Demons claw through to our world all the time. I'm actually amazed you haven't met one you know before."


The world is cold, hard, bright when it finally claws through the surface. Its mouth opens and gulps down fresh air that it doesn't need, but it missed it all the more because of that. Heaving its body from the dirt takes more effort than it had anticipated. By the time it lay on its back to stare at the dead suns populating the dark sky, its newly rebuilt muscles are crying for relief. It has never felt a pain so rewarding.

"My, my," a voice drawls from just above it. "Fancy running into you here." It may not know much, but it knows this voice. And it knows hate.

"Crowley," it growls, rolling to its knees and creating a gap between them.

The king of hell smiles and spreads his arms. "In the flesh," he says. "As are you, I've noticed. How'd you manage that meat suit? Looks awfully familiar."

It bears its teeth in a cocky smile. "I've learned a few things," it informs him.

"Obviously." He paces around it, wet grass brushing the flares of his well tailored paints without staining them. "You wouldn't happen to be going after Hell's favorite chew toys, would you?" It flinches but does not say anything, teeth bared in that cocky smile but turning feral. "Because that would be very stupid of you. And you were always such a smart girl." He stops in front of her, hands in his pockets and head cocked. "Now, why the move? You had such a nice set up; I'd hate to think you had a problem with the neighbors."

"I felt like a change in scenery," it quips in response, testing the sore muscles in its legs. "Maybe a white picket fence instead of pikes and crucifixions. What do you think?"

"I think you've forgotten what's happening here." His voice is suddenly serious and threatening, a hard turn from where they had been heading just seconds before.

It grins harder, pushing to its feet with the creak of new bones. "Of course not," it tells him. He tenses the moment before, but not fast enough. It has learned a few things, things that even the King of Hell seems to have forgotten about.

Learning and executing turn out to be two very different things. The jump punches a hole into its stomach, knocking it just a bit off course so when its knees hit the ground it is not on the asphalt beside a black car like it had aimed for. It doubles over on all fours for a good ten minutes, vomiting up brimstone and black that it doesn't care to think about. Finally, after what seems like forever, it gathers its feet beneath itself and pushes to a standing position.

The soft hum buzzing at the back of its skull indicates a road near by, so it figures it can't be far from where it had intended to go. A quick glance around verifies that the spot it landed in is deserted and dead, the trees rotting from the inside out. For a moment, it considers the possibility that it did this just by touching down here; the magic learned in the ascending circles of hell has that affect on the living world. Of course then it realizes that it doesn't really care about the rotting trees or the brown grass beneath it's feet. It didn't claw it's way up from the depths of Crowley's hell to save the planet- it came for the Winchesters.

Too dazed from the first jump, it has to recover a little before attempting another location hop like the first so it aims its body towards the main road and starts to walk. Thirty minutes that feel like five and its scuffed boots touch the familiar asphalt of a back road. A car blazes past, headlights bright and unwelcome against its pitch black eyes. It raises a hand to shield its face, blonde hair falling in curls to help, and the next car that passes all but skids to a stop ten feet ahead of it. Perfect, it thinks as the truck's reverse lights come on and it rolls back until the driver can get a proper look at it.

"Hey, sweetie," the driver croons through teeth that it can practically smell rotting. "Where ya headed?" It has to focus on the ground for a moment, ensuring that the eyes that meet the driver's are a natural brown with pupils and not completely black. When he doesn't flinch back, it figures it succeeded in the menial task.

In a voice still a bit hoarse from screaming on the rack, it responds, "Anywhere but here." It hopes for a playful, rebellious tone, one that it had certainly worn dry as a human. The driver licks his lips and it realizes that the tone doesn't matter when its shirt hangs the way it does. "You offering?"

Its answer is the pop of locks. Candy from a baby. "You're young to be hitting the streets, little lady," he drawls. It smirks inwardly at the thought of being called little lady, but the genderization fits the body and the soul that it used to be. A little lady she was. "What's your mama got to say 'bout you hoofin' it like this?" The accent means south, but how far south?

"My mama doesn't have much to say," she answers as she situates herself in the seat and pulls the passenger door closed. He shifts the car into drive with a soft 'oh?' and her rebuilt body shivers in anticipation. "You can't say much when you're burning in hell." His eyes widen comically at that, the laugh he gives off a bit uneasy but not disturbed. She presses on as he pulls onto the road again, "Mostly she just screams, begs for mercy. That's if they don't go for her vocal chords." He shoots a nervous look at her.

"You got one twisted mind," he manages to choke it out with some semblance of normalcy. The urge is there, red hot under her fingertips and so powerful that she almost loses it. And who could blame her fresh from hell's kitchen? Her eyes flicker black, her breathing hitches and she's leaning towards him before a voice whispers in her head Yeah, but I'm a little twisted. Her eyes are brown and nearly panicked when the driver looks at her again, his smile faltering ever so slightly. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" There is an echo, the same whisper. Sweetheart.

"Stop with the pet names," she hears herself snap as she withdraws into the corner of the passenger seat. Her blood is pulsing through reconstructed veins, pulse racing and hands desperate to rip to tear while something inside of her rages against it all. "I'm getting out at the next town."

He drops the smile completely, agitated by her sudden change in mood and obviously put out that she's not the two-bit hooker he expected along the side of a back country road. She thinks about ripping his throat out, but can't seem to do it. "As you like it," he grumbles, snapping on the radio to drown the silence in the cab.

It's REO Speedwagon- He sings it from the hair- of course it is.

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I'm testing this story out. Review/Favorite if you want me to keep going.


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